


Welcome Home

by distantglory



Category: Insektors
Genre: Aelia is a Good Sister, Background Relationships, Eurekas gets adopted, Fulgor is a Good Brother, Gen, The Great Pyro is a Great Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantglory/pseuds/distantglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eurekas arrives at the Great Flower. It's not what he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately post- _Katakombs_. Because I had to write something to satisfy my idea of what Eurekas's reception at the Great Flower was like.
> 
> Therefore, much fluffy gen ahead. Enjoy!

Eurekas had never considered himself someone prone to panic. Working directly for a Yuk monarch required a certain strength of character, and _defying_  a Yuk ruler required even more than that. Even when his sanctuary had been invaded—first by his son and Prince Acylius, then by Queen Bakrakra’s foot soldiers—Eurekas had been more angry than afraid.

But out in the open, fragrant air of Joyceland, approaching the Great Flower to meet the people who had taken in his infant son, Eurekas was terrified. He clutched the handles of his hovering transport tightly, as though it would give him the strength to not wrench the machine around and flee back to the tunnels under the Stump. This place—with all its light and kolor and air of amiable freedom—was so far away from what he knew. Joyces buzzed around the abundant array of flowers beneath them. As their group passed by, Eurekas could see some of them pausing to stare after them, and his sense of disconnect increased. In Yukdom, no worker would have been allowed to pause even a moment in their toils.

“We’re almost there,” called Fulgor over his shoulder. “I can’t wait to introduce you to the Great Pyro!”

“I am…looking forward to meeting him,” managed Eurekas, hoping that Fulgor had not noticed the pause. Gingerly releasing one hand from the controls of his transport, Eurekas touched his throat. It had seized up painfully at the thought of meeting the one who had taken in his son. What would the Great Pyro—the leader of the Joyces—think of him?

“Fulgor! Fulgor!”

A clamour of voices  pulled Eurekas away from his anxiety, and he looked frantically around for their source. Two Joyce workers fluttered down towards them, coming from the direction of the Great Flower. They were small and rounded, like Yuk workers, and they were carrying armfuls of long-necked and kolor-stained bottles, so they should undoubtedly have been at their tasks—but they flew in close to Gallopus, who stopped to hover in midair. Eurekas followed suit, but wondered why.

 “You’re back!” said one of the workers.

“You were gone so long—we were worried!” said the other.

“Is that another Yuk?”

“His machine looks like Gallopus!”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” said Fulgor, holding up his hands. “You’re not letting me get a word in edgeways!”

“Sorry,” said the two workers in unison. But despite their apology, they were practically vibrating with curiosity. Eurekas’s carapace prickled with their constant glances.

“First, everything went fine. It was a little hairy for a bit, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Did Krabo send soldiers after you?” blurted one of the workers, apparently unable to hold their silence for more than two sentences. Fulgor was not deterred.

“Just the usual suspects. No one dangerous.”

“Did you get them with your guitar again?”

“No, Eurekas took care of them.”

“Eurekas? Who’s that?”

“Is this him?”

It took all of Eurekas’s self-control not to jerk backwards as the workers darted towards him and began to circle.

“He has wings!” exclaimed one. “Why isn’t he flying?”

“Is he hurt? Does he have the microbe?”

“You should take him to Aelia—she’ll have him up and buzzing again in no time!”

“ _Guys,_ ” said Fulgor, and Eurekas almost relaxed. Surely this would be the moment that Fulgor would tell these workers that they should be returning to their duties. They had been idle for an unacceptable amount of time, by Yuk standards. It would make sense that the Joyces were more lenient, but not _this_ lenient.

Fulgor’s next words shocked him. “This is Eurekas—my father,” he said, and there was an undeniable note of pride in his voice. “He built Gallopus.”

The workers gasped.

“Wow!”

“That’s incredible!”

“You must be really smart, Eurekas!”

There was an expectant silence, and Eurekas realised that they were waiting for him to respond.

“…Thank you,” he managed.

This appeared to satisfy the workers.

“But that still doesn’t explain why he’s not flying,” said one.

“Maybe he can’t?”

“There doesn’t _seem_ to be anything wrong with his wings…”

A small hand touched his back, apparently to check his wings by touch. This time, Eurekas did jerk away. He was utterly baffled. This kind of behaviour was unprecedented in his experience, and he could not understand how these Joyces could be so…carefree. A Yuk had flown right into their territory, and they were not afraid or even suspicious. They felt comfortable enough to _touch_ him.

Eurekas gripped the handles of his transport tighter, as though it would convince him that this was truly reality. It was beginning to feel like a strange dream.

“Hey, that’s enough,” said Fulgor, and only now was there some admonishment in his voice. “Give him some space, he’s been living by himself for a long time—you okay, Dad?”

“Fine,” said Eurekas, as the workers drifted immediately backwards.

“Sorry,” said one of the workers. Eurekas supposed that it must be the one that had touched his wings—he could not tell them apart. “But—”

“He’s not sick, or hurt, and I’ll explain everything later,” said Fulgor. “Right now, we have to go see the Great Pyro.”

“We’ll get back to work, then,” said one with a hint of regret.

“As long as you _do_ explain everything later!” said the other.

“I promise,” said Fulgor, rolling his eyes. “Go on, get going.”

One of the workers stuck their tongue out at him. They fluttered a little higher, clearly intending to rejoin the stream of workers going back and forth between the smaller flowers and the Great one. But before they passed out of earshot, they called something that made Eurekas stare.

“Great to meet you, Eurekas!”

“Hope you like it here!”

They were gone before he could begin to formulate a reply.

“Sorry about that,” said Fulgor. “All the workers are…well, they’re busybodies.”

“This is normal?” asked Eurekas, disbelievingly.

“Pretty normal. You get used to it. Come on, Gallopus.”

The Great Flower loomed close now, filling Eurekas’s vision. It was immense, larger than he had ever thought, and he felt a flash of ashamed annoyance. He was an engineer! How could he not have accurately judged the size of Flower City, even from a distance? Either he had miscalculated, or he was allowing his emotions to overwhelm his logic. Either one was unacceptable.

He was aware, even as he thought it, that he was attempting to distract himself.

“Here we are!” Fulgor was swinging off Gallopus almost before the robot had alighted on the broad landing platform that encircled the structure. Eurekas noted, with some disquiet, that there were no railings. He parked his transport some distance from the edge, eyeing it as though it might creep up on him while his back was turned. It took him a long moment to dismount from his device, and even then, he kept hold of the handlebars. Even the deep caverns that he had lived in for so long hadn’t had so long a fall.

“Fulgor!” Another voice—a new voice—forced Eurekas to turn.

The new arrival almost tackled Fulgor, and for a moment all that Eurekas could see of her was a pair of large wings, as blue as the sky and marbled with different shades like metamorphic rock. Eurekas stared. The Joyce workers had seen before had possessed wings rather like his own—long, thin, transparent and membranous—nothing like these broad expanses of brilliant colour. What made this Joyce so different? Was she the norm or the exception in this land? Did her large, colourful wings signal some kind of superiority to the plainer workers?

These questions passed rapidly through his mind before the new Joyce had time to pull back from his son. Eurekas noted her large, dark eyes and long antennae, currently twitching with the intensity of her emotion. Her body was slender, nothing like the typical blocky build of a Yuk or even the rounded forms of the Joyce workers he had already seen. The closest reference he had was his former Queen—but unlike Bakrakra, this Joyce had no spines, no natural defences, nothing that suggested an inherently predatory nature.

“You were gone for so long—I was really starting to worry!” she scolded, staying close to his son even after releasing him.

Fulgor smiled and patted her shoulder. “You worry too much, Yaya—I’m fine.”

“ _Aelia,_ ” insisted the Joyce. “Honestly, you—” She glanced over to Eurekas, and froze. It seemed like a long time before she looked back to his son and said, “Fulgor, is that—”

Fulgor beamed. “Yep.” He half-turned towards Eurekas and beckoned him. “Dad, come meet Aelia! She’s my sister—Great Pyro’s daughter.”

Eurekas might have felt pleased at already determining that this Joyce was different from the rest, if he hadn’t also realised that he was still clutching tightly to the handlebars of his transport, like a fearful child. With a deliberate effort, he released his grip and took a few tentative steps towards this—sister.

Aelia fluttered forward and touched down in front of him.  Fulgor followed.

“Aelia, this is my father, Eurekas.” There was that note of pride again, the one that Eurekas hardly felt he deserved.

“This is incredible,” breathed Aelia. “You’re alive!” She reached out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

Hesitantly, Eurekas took the offered hand and shook it, gingerly. “I…trust that Fulgor has been a good brother?”

Aelia smiled. “He’s overprotective, messes up my experiments, and makes me listen to his music when I’m trying to work.”

Eurekas did not know how to respond to that. The words themselves did not sound positive—but there had been undeniable affection in Aelia’s voice.

“I see,” he said, hoping that this would be an acceptable answer.

Aelia seemed to perceive his confusion, because she added, “I figured that you should be told something to balance out the egotistical view of himself he’s probably been giving you.” She glanced over at Fulgor, a teasing smile on her lips.

Fulgor stuck his tongue out at her. “For your information, we’ve hardly talked about me  _at all_  except for explaining what happened after he sent Gallopus away. He’s been taking in the view since we left the tunnels.”

“There is a lot to see,” demurred Eurekas, feeling that he should justify himself in some way.

"Especially since you've been trapped down in those tunnels for years," agreed Fulgor. “There’s so much I want to show you—but we really should speak to the Great Pyro first. Where is he, sis?”

"Papa is with the Prism," Aelia replied. She sounded concerned, an emotion that Eurekas had always associated with a ruler’s temper. His felt his antennae twitch. "He's just been staring up at it since you left."

“We'll go see him now," replied Fulgor. Eurekas tried not to flinch, his earlier unease returning in full force. Such acceptance from the daughter of the Joyce ruler was reassuring in its way, more so than the curious greeting from the workers, but Aelia was clearly young and inexperienced. Her father might not be so friendly, and it seemed the Great Pyro was already in an uncertain mood. "You'll want to see the Prism, Dad," continued his son, apparently oblivious to the risk. "It's the source of all power here in Flower City. And I bet that the Great Pyro will want to talk to you about—"

"Acylius!" Aelia rushed past them both, interrupting whatever Fulgor had been about to say.

It occurred to Eurekas that the Yuk prince had been very quiet since they had left the caverns. He turned. Acylius was leaning against Gallopus's side, one hand pressed to his head. Gallopus bent its head to honk enquiringly at the prince, while Aelia had taken to the air again and was hovering with hands extended over him.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" asked Aelia anxiously.

Acylius rubbed his head and tried to smile at her, but even Eurekas could see that it had a strained quality to it. "Just a bump to the head," he said. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before."

"If that's meant to be reassuring, you're failing," Aelia informed him. "What happened?" She was cupping Acylius's face in one hand, gently tilting his head to give her a better view of the scrape on his carapace that showed where the rocks had hit. The tenderness with which she was touching him, and the way that Acylius leaned into her hand… Eurekas felt as though he had missed his footing. Surely not—

"Krabo sent Kretinous, Krabouic and Kaboche after us," filled in Fulgor, audibly frowning. "They started shooting at all of us and brought a bunch of rocks down. Acylius, why didn't you say something?"

"You'd better not be telling me that you knew he got hit and didn't think to ask whether he was suffering any ill effects," said Aelia warningly. "You _know_  how head injuries can affect balance!"

"Hey, I got slammed into a wall," protested Fulgor. "I wasn't thinking that clearly myself."

Aelia dipped in midair as her wings momentarily ceased to beat. Then she covered her face with one hand. "Please tell me that you didn't try to fly back once you got out of the tunnels."

"Relax, we rode Gallopus."

"Good." Aelia released Acylius's head. "Gallopus, would you mind taking Acylius down to my lab? I'll be there in a minute."

"Aelia—" began Acylius.

"You're  _hurt_ , Acylius. And head injuries can cause real problems if they're left untreated. Just humour me, okay?"

Acylius sighed. “Very well—but you should check on Fulgor, too.”

Aelia smiled at him. “I was going to, don’t worry. He seems fine, but sometimes it's hard to tell."

Fulgor rolled his eyes. "Ha ha. You're a real wit, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh, hush," said Aelia, flitting back over to her brother and tilting his head back to peer into his eyes. "I don't know how I'd even judge 'impaired behaviour' with you. You can be so reckless."

Behind them, Gallopus honked a goodbye. Eurekas nodded to his creation, trying not to show any of his discomfort. He would have preferred to have Gallopus with him for his next introduction, but it only made sense for the robot to help the dizzy prince to safety. Perhaps Gallopus would return once Aelia went to her laboratory…

"Well, your pupils are fine," Aelia pronounced. "Any dizziness?"

"Just a little bit when I first got up. Nothing since." Fulgor was bearing the examination with what seemed to Eurekas to be exaggerated patience. Either Aelia didn't notice, or she was ignoring it.

“Well, if you didn’t lose consciousness and you’re not dizzy, it’s probably not that bad,” Aelia was saying. “But if you start showing symptoms, come and get treatment. I mean it. I don’t want to have to chase you again.”

“That was _one time,_ ” protested Fulgor.

“One time too many,” insisted Aelia. “Now, go see Papa. I’m going to go get Acylius fixed up.” She glanced over at Eurekas. “It was nice to meet you, Eurekas—I hope we’ll get the chance to speak more later.”

“I hope so, too,” said Eurekas, still feeling as though there must have been some mistake.

“Ugh, you two are going to be _unbearable,_ ” said Fulgor. He sounded unusually pleased.

Aelia did not deign to reply, but fluttered off to catch up with Gallopus. Eurekas watched her go, still feeling off-balance.

“So,” said Fulgor eventually. “What did you think of her?”

“How could I know what to think of her?” asked Eurekas, his nervousness lending an edge to his voice. “I have only just met her.” He paused. No. This was not some kind of ploy; Fulgor was genuinely asking for his impression. “She seems…intelligent.”

This appeared to satisfy his son. “She is, but don’t tell her I said that. You’ll get on fine. Come on—I’ll show you where the Prism is.”

The corridors of the Great Flower were immense, more like the caverns that Eurekas had most recently inhabited than the cramped tunnels of Yukdom. To distract himself from his churning gut, Eurekas tried to analyse what they were made of. Surely not stone; flowerwood could only support so much weight. And the material was too smooth to be flowerwood itself, if flowerwood could even be found in cool white. Unless it had been painted?

“You’re very quiet.”

Eurekas winced. Distract himself from his nervousness and ignore his son; or pay attention to his son and suffer through this sick anxiety? It was not a pleasant choice. “I have much to think about,” he replied, painfully aware that he sounded rude.

Fulgor didn’t seem to notice. “I guess this is a pretty big contrast to the Stump.”

Eurekas glanced at the corridor’s smooth walls, the slender arches that supported the high ceiling. A starker difference to the crowded, rough-walled, torch-lit tunnels of the City of Darkness was beyond his imagination. “It is.”

They turned into another hall, one that seemed identical to the others—but at the end was an enormous pair of doors. Eurekas’s throat tightened. This had to be their destination. It took conscious effort not to slow his pace. For the first time—and it was a careless oversight indeed—he remembered the tales of the Prism that had circulated in Yukdom. It was said to contain more kolor than an entire squadron of dragonflies could drop, and be bright enough to blind. Eurekas remembered the brief period at the height of every summer when the Prism shone brightly enough that dark glasses were required even in the Stump. Surely the Prism was not so bright _all_ the time. Even Joyces could not bear that level of light.

Could they?

But Eurekas’s anxieties, on this matter at least, were not to be confirmed then. The enormous double doors opened, a spill of gently coloured light raced down the corridor, and a Joyce emerged from the room. At first, Eurekas thought that the light was tinting the Joyce’s wings—they were not patterned in _one_ colour, as Aelia’s had been, but in two. They were rich purple at the centre, but outlined and shot through with warm yellow like the vein of soft metal that Eurekas had once stumbled upon. But the door slid shut with a muffled boom, the light was extinguished, and the Joyce’s wings did not lose a fraction of their colour.

Eurekas did not need to be told that this was the Great Pyro. His deductions about Aelia’s wings marking her out as different from the common workers of the Joyces were confirmed. He had a second to feel a sense of triumph at this vindication before it truly hit him that _this was the one who had taken in his son._ Eurekas’s throat locked up and he railed at himself for it. At the very _least_ he owed this Joyce an expression of gratitude—

At just that moment, the Joyce spotted them. His hands, which he had been wringing, dropped limply to his sides.

The silence seemed to stretch. Dimly, Eurekas tried to categorise the feeling in the air. He had just decided that it felt like metal stressed beyond its tensile strength and about to warp or shear, when the Great Pyro darted forward and took Eurekas’s hand in both of his own. It was so sudden a move that Eurekas could not even muster the presence of mind to pull away, even if the Great Pyro hadn’t begun to pump their joined hands up and down in a vigorous handshake.

“Welcome, welcome!” said the Great Pyro. “I must admit, I did not expect—but it is a wonderful thing to find you alive, Eurekas, truly wonderful! I have often wished that I could meet you since Gallopus arrived all those years ago.”

Eurekas had once prided himself on the fact that he was never at a loss for words, not even under the most difficult of circumstances. But he found himself now with absolutely nothing coherent to say. He could only stutter, “I—thank you?”

The Great Pyro stopped shaking his hand, but did not let go. Eurekas searched the Joyce’s face for any sign of duplicity or deception or fawning self-interest, as he would have expected to find any Yuk who had made such a fuss of his arrival—but saw nothing. Once again, Eurekas had the sensation of having missed his footing. The workers, even Aelia—they were young, perhaps inexperienced. They might make the mistake of showing friendship to someone that they shouldn’t. But the Great Pyro…he led the Joyces! And he welcomed a grown Yuk?

Eurekas snapped out of his thoughts to find that the Great Pyro was still speaking rapidly, as though his words were swamp water forcing their way through a crack in the foundation wall. “—and of course there is always Gallopus, if you need to make your way around. But I’m sure that Fulgor would be more than happy to teach you to fly, if that is what you wish—”

“Well, of course I’d be happy to,” said Fulgor, sounding almost insulted at the implication that he might _not_ be happy to teach Eurekas to fly. “But I’m not sure that he needs me _or_ Gallopus, he has another machine that he can use to get around.”

The Great Pyro released Eurekas and slapped a hand to his face. “Of course! Laboratory space! I should have thought of it at once. Let me see, I don’t believe we have any spare rooms at the moment... But we can always empty out one of the storerooms. It will take time to move our reserves, but we have a surplus of kolor stored in any case. I’m sure that Aelia can think of some uses that it can be put to.”

Eurekas glanced at his son, desperate for some clue to what he should be doing. Was this the way that others felt when he began to expound on a problem? Listening to this stream-of-consciousness planning—planning for _his_ benefit—Eurekas felt as though he was being tossed through the rapids of some out-of-control river. Should he say something? What _could_ he say?

“I must admit, I have no idea what an engineer such as yourself might require in a workspace,” said the Great Pyro, and the apologetic tone dragged Eurekas back to the situation at hand. This was a matter of facts; Eurekas could deal with facts.

“I can retrieve my equipment from the catacombs at another time,” he said, thankfully managing to sound less bewildered than he felt. “It would take time and resources that I am not sure that you have to recreate them.” He paused. Wait. “You…you _want_ me to continue my work?” A hint of suspicion curled in his gut. Did the Great Pyro want the same thing that Queen Bakrakra had—tools of war and destruction? Surely not. That would be the antithesis of the person that Fulgor had described.

“Well, sure,” put in Fulgor, sounding confused. “Your work is your life, isn’t it?”

“It is, but…” Eurekas trailed off. Was there any way to frame his fears in a way that wouldn’t alienate his son? Had he mentioned the precise reason for his imprisonment?

The Great Pyro’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, stamens and pistils,” he said. “I see what you must be thinking. No, no, your presence here is not conditional on creating anything—war machine or otherwise.”

“Crunching cactus,” said Fulgor, sounding vaguely horrified. “Of course we wouldn’t do that to you, Dad! That’s the whole reason you got locked up in the first place, isn’t it—because you wouldn’t build them for the Yuks?”

“I—yes. That is why I was imprisoned.” Eurekas struggled with words for a moment. “Then—you’re giving me to the space for my experiments…”

“Because we want you to feel at home,” said the Great Pyro gently. “So that you may keep on doing what you are called to do.”

“Oh. I see.” Eurekas cursed his stuttering mind. Surely he could think of something  more intelligent to say than that!

But something more intelligent didn’t seem to be expected of him. The Great Pyro patted his shoulder, looking at him with an expression that Eurekas couldn’t quite place. It certainly wasn’t anything he’d ever seen on the face of a Yuk. Pity? No. Eurekas had seen pity, and it always had an edge of contempt.

Kindness?

“I will see to the clearing of one of the storerooms,” said the Great Pyro. “Speak to Fulgor when you want to retrieve your equipment. In the meantime, perhaps you should consult with Aelia. She is not an engineer herself, but she often has unorthodox solutions to engineering problems. I’m sure that she would be willing to share some of her laboratory space with you, until yours can be set up to your liking. Fulgor sleeps down by the lake, and if you are not comfortable here in the Great Flower I’m certain he would be happy to have you join him. Is there anything else that you wish to know?”

“No,” said Eurekas, almost dazedly. “You’ve covered everything of importance.”

“Then I will see you later. And let me say again that it’s wonderful to have you here, Eurekas.”

The Great Pyro bustled out of the room, leaving a baffled Eurekas behind. Of all the outcomes that he had expected…this was not one of them. The Great Pyro had seemed glad to have him here. He was arranging space for Eurekas’s experiments, with no expectations that these experiments would be used to create weapons. He had deduced that Eurekas might be uncomfortable sleeping above the ground after a lifetime spent below it, and offered a graceful solution.

Eurekas could not remember _anyone_ making such accommodations for him before.

“Dad? You okay?”

Eurekas turned to his son. Fulgor hovered near him, looking concerned.

“I…” It took a moment for Eurekas to gather his thoughts. “I am fine. I just—I never expected to be…”

Fulgor’s wings beat a little harder, and he rose a little higher in the air before subsiding to his previous height. “To be what?” He sounded anxious, almost defensive, and Eurekas hastened to answer.

“To be accepted—no.” That didn’t go far enough. Acceptance was only a small step from tolerance. It wasn’t an adequate description of the effusive and open-hearted welcome that he had just experienced. Eurekas paused. Yes. That was the word. “To be…welcomed.”

Eurekas’s eyes were stinging. He put a hand to them—doubtless the pain was a side-effect of moving too quickly from his dark caverns to the bright kolors of Flower City. Except that even when he covered them, providing a temporary shield that had always worked in the past to provide relief, they continued to sting. Moisture—tears—seeped from beneath his hand.

Eurekas didn’t understand—and yet he did. There was a full feeling in his chest, a kind of warmth that he couldn’t remember feeling in years. And the more he concentrated on it, the more his eyes prickled—but it was a good feeling. A relief, like something inside him had finally been released after operating under pressure for far too long.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Fulgor leaned his head against his father’s.

“Welcome home, Dad.”


End file.
